


the stars are a heavy burden

by heroiism



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kara needs a hug, kara has trauma and is up late brooding about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 14:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroiism/pseuds/heroiism
Summary: Ever since she was told of her responsibility to protect the Earth and Kal-El, Kara has known that giving her life to protect something means that she would have to be prepared to die for it. And she would; she would do it a thousand times over for the good of the planet that gave her a home. That gave her a purpose.





	the stars are a heavy burden

Kara’s eyes flicker open, adjusting to murky ink of the bedroom as she pulls herself out of another fruitless attempt at chasing sleep. The only noises that occupy the dark are those from Lena who sleeps soundly beside her, tucked beneath her comforter. Kara props herself up on one arm and spares a sidelong glance at her, admiring the serenity of her resting face framed in the halo of dark hair splayed over the pillows. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she watches the rise and fall of Lena’s chest and shoulders with each steady breath. Kara allows herself to further study Lena’s features, the defined, delicate curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, and the elegant arch of her brow. Kara briefly debates leaning down and lowering her lips to Lena’s exposed cheek before deciding against disturbing her. It makes her wonder how someone so radiant and intrinsically beautiful within and without could’ve ever settled for someone like her.

She pulls away, cradling herself back on her elbows before pushing herself up off the mattress. Kara allows her hand to drift towards her hair as she stretches. The taut draw of her ponytail has since slackened from when she put it up a couple of hours ago and now hangs loosely down her back. Kara sighs, airing her grievances only momentarily before shaking out her hair and tying it back up; knowing full well that she’s gotten as much sleep as her anxiety will allow. She throws the blanket off her legs and pulls herself out of bed, scooping up the discarded cardigan that lays on the armchair as she crosses the room towards the door.

It had been about a month since they started spending several nights a week at the others' apartments, and Kara still feels as if she has to hide parts of herself from Lena, she can't quite come to part with that lack of security just yet.

Stepping out into the hall, Kara is careful to close the door softly behind her as she pads toward the living room. Mindlessly, she bats away the racing thoughts and worries that pervade her conscious and ambles her way past the cream colored sofa towards the sliding glass doors leading out onto the balcony. Cracking them open slightly, she allows the cool rush of night air to fill the vacant backdrop of Lena’s penthouse with the distant, ambient sounds of city life. She watches wordlessly; the grid of street lamps and headlights below her spread out over the horizon as far as she can see, disappearing into an unfurling indigo. Kara blinks heavily against the soft, silver glow of the moon; her slowly waking senses feel comparatively dulled as if she were wrapped in a veil of cotton.

She takes a hard seat on the polished stone tile, propping herself up against the windows that run from the floor to the ceiling. She sits, and she listens. For sounds of distress, a struggle, a siren, so that she can leap into action at a moments notice and fly off into the night to, once again, save the day. She listens, and she listens. For something. Anything.

Perhaps it’s a desperate plea for an outlet; an escape to distract her mind from it’s incessant assault, with the way it manifests her worst fears as continuous thoughts that drive her to a point of feeling neurotic and paranoid it’s almost suffocating. The flashbacks that nearly cripple her when she's at home alone and vulnerable. The outbursts of anger and frustration in tight circumstances. The nightmares. The ever-present thought that perhaps, for her ineptitude, she deserves it.

People have always assumed that the Girl of Steel could bear the burden and responsibility of being the Earth’s champion. That with an invincible body comes an invincible mind. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have taken the job in the first place. However, try as she might to push them away, the events of her mistakes, the deaths she’s witnessed, the people she’s lost, overtake her in the dead of night when she has little work to liberate her of these burdens. It’s part of the reason why she works so tirelessly as a civilian. That way, she doesn’t have time to think about the looks on the faces of the people she’s failed.

Kara tucks her knees up to her chest and holds them there, gazing out over the lights of the city, watching cars pass on the street twenty-five stories below. It’s become a nightly routine that, strangely enough, brings her a sense of quietude. It makes her feel emblazoned to feel prepared, to know that the city unknowingly rests safely under her careful watch. She pauses for a moment, noting how much brooding at night atop a building makes her feel like Batman. She crinkles her nose at the thought before rationalizing that she actually has superpowers so it‘s very clearly different.

She tugs at the sleeves of her cardigan absentmindedly, finding that when she isn’t giving into the lingering, deep-seated feeling of dread and anger among other repressed emotions, that she can actually enjoy herself somewhat. It’s a reminder that she is very much still alive, but she can’t discern whether or not she appreciates it.

For so long she has carried the fate of the world on her shoulders without sparing a second thought for her own wellbeing, making selfless sacrifices for the benefit of humanity as a thankless act of heroism. The burden that she and she alone carries is not meant to be bestowed. Unlike most, her responsibilities and loyalties to the planet come before those to herself, and as long as there are people out there who need her, that will never change. It makes her yearn for the authority to demand to be selfish for once. She wishes more than anything else that she could wholeheartedly devote herself to the Earth without incurring the consequences of war, death, and hatred. Because people are so blind-sighted to the weight of what she has witnessed; what she continues to endure on a daily basis. So she conceals it. She suppresses the constant fear of losing her loved ones, the anxiety attacks, the destructive urges; covering her instability with a cheerful smile and an S on her chest.

Deep down she knows there are people who understand that she didn’t take this job because she could, but because she had to. Ever since she was told of her responsibility to protect the Earth and Kal-El, Kara has known that giving her life to protect something means that she would have to be prepared to die for it. And she would; she would do it a thousand times over for the good of the planet that gave her a home. That gave her a purpose.

Kara watches a drunk couple stagger around on the street corner and clamber into a taxi with diluted amusement, recalling her own intolerance for alien alcohol. The memories of being crammed into a booth, choking back shots of Aldebaran liquor in the alien dive bar surrounded by her closest friends almost feel tangible enough to deter her, but the feeling quickly fades back into the dismay that comes to bury it as she withdraws away from the minutiae to resume her brooding. 

From behind her, the bedroom door opens and Kara squeezes her eyes shut, knowing that Lena would’ve found out sooner or later. She lets out a beleaguered sigh and prepares to explain why she wasn’t in bed. Kara supposes it’s been an hour or so since she’s risen, as the sun’s burnished orange glow has begun to crest over the eastern horizon.

She waits for Lena to sit down beside her before turning to look at her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone.” Lena murmurs, cocking her head to the side slightly, “I figured you had gotten up for a drink, but when you didn’t come back I got concerned.”

Kara stays silent for a moment, casting her gaze downwards before speaking, “I, um. I couldn’t sleep.” She purses her lips, almost amused by the lack of effort she put into her excuse.

“That doesn’t seem very plausible.” Lena keeps her eyes trained on her, and even though Kara isn’t looking at her, she can tell Lena’s brow is arched. It isn’t a total lie, however Kara knows that lying to her would only prolong the inevitable. Lena would reluctantly let her be, only to ask later when she finds her brooding by the window again some other night. Lena, also fully aware of this aspect keeps her eyes trained on Kara expectantly, knowing the silence between the two of them would be enough to prompt Kara into telling the truth.

And it does. Eventually. Kara does her best to remain adamant in her stance of maintaining as much distance as possible, Lena however is much too astute to be dismissed so easily. Kara knows well that Lena is very familiar with closing herself off to people to deter them from prying too deep, it was a poorly configured coping mechanism they both had. After she came clean to Lena about being Supergirl, they made each other promise not to keep secrets from one another, and Kara just has a feeling Lena will use that promise to hold that much more leverage over her to force her hand.

“As I’ve come to know, you don’t keep secrets without good reason. But I can’t be of any help if you don’t talk to me.” Lena’s tone is gentle, but firm. It’s an insistent press, encroaching on Kara’s space as close as she can manage without physically touching her.

Kara feels her shoulders stiffen, as the first thought that crosses her mind after Lena speaks is ‘do I even want Lena’s help?’ and she tightens her jaw bitterly.

“I...” Kara’s words are hesitant; tentative, as if she were feeling blindly through her own thoughts in search of the right words to say. She feels like a blinking cursor on a blank word document.

Lena waits patiently.

“I... I can’t sleep... Every time I close my eyes I’m constantly reminded of all the mistakes I’ve made... The people I’ve failed.”

“Kara, no one can expect you to be perfect. Mistakes are things we universally learn from, it can’t be helped.” Lena’s approach is logistically sound, however all rationality has abandoned Kara’s brain in light of her anxieties and she feels herself growing tense.

“No, no, it’s not like that...” Kara quickly extinguishes her burgeoning irritation before she has the chance to snap, “People look to me to be a beacon of hope and stability. Every day I balance the weight of mankind and it’s destiny, but not once have I done it solely because I wanted to...” She admits forlornly, raising her face to Lena whose relatively calmed expression quickly transforms into that of concern when she sees the tears forming in her eyes. Kara bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to tear her attention away from the tightening in her throat, all the way back at the root of her tongue to deny herself the display of weakness of outright sobbing in front of Lena. “Every day I witness famine, war, hatred, death... I’m not made to hide that away forever.” It seems like less of an admittance and more of a realization.

Somewhere deep inside herself Kara hopes that these implications are enough to convey her struggles. The last thing she wants is to confess outright that she’s witnessed too much without reprieve, this conversation has already pushed her well outside of her comfort zone.

Kara lets her gaze wander aimlessly, settling somewhere unfocused on a spot on the wall. Somewhere that isn’t Lena; so that maybe, just maybe, she won’t be able to see the fear dwelling behind her eyes. “If I could remove that part of me, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Her voice wavers and she swallows hard, tears falling freely down her face.

Lena seems to understand, “Your compassion and love for life is not a weakness...” She begins. 

Kara’s words intercept Lena’s before she has the chance to offer any comfort, “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be living in constant fear of losing my world and everything I love again.” Kara wipes away the tears with the sleeve of her sweater. “No matter what happens to me, my obligations to this planet will always have to come first. That responsibility will never waver as long as there are people out there who need me.” Kara’s voice dips to a whisper, “Selfishly, I wish more people recognized that.”

In her periphery, Kara can see the sorrow and hurt welling up in Lena’s eyes, the longing to be strong enough to liberate her of that burden, so she turns herself away to look out over the city once more, the warmth of the sun now spreading across the sky.

She feels a pair of arms slip around her waist as Lena settles into her shoulder from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to the sloped cant of her neck.

“Kara, you have done more good for this world than you allow yourself to realize.” Kara’s shoulders seize slightly as she chokes out a soft sob, and Lena tightens her hold. “But you know that this world and these people aren’t going to go anywhere.”

“You can’t know that.” Kara argues, her voice low and tightened, “I’ve barely been able to protect this earth whenever it is threatened.”

“But regardless of what you have faced, you have always triumphed.” Lena counters pointedly.

“And how long until I fail irreparably because I was too weak? Too selfish?” Kara bites out the words with vehemence, as if repulsed by the very thought.

“No. Kara, putting your fears aside to protect others is not weakness.” Lena‘s words are forceful against the jut of her shoulder blade. “And your sacrifices for the benefit of this planet are a testament to your strength and selflessness. Every single day you continue to show humanity that they have something to believe in.” Kara sinks into Lena’s receptive embrace and allows herself to be held there while Lena continues. “People may not know all of what you have endured for them, but I promise you, your hardships and victories will not go forgotten.“

Kara knows that underneath these words, Lena is hiding fears of her own. The fear that despite her reputation and credibility as one of the world’s most renowned and innovative scientists of the century, there is nothing within her capabilities that she can do. Kara has seen the emergence of this side of Lena only a handful of times before. Realistically, there is very little that can be done for a superhero whose job was never hers to choose, but Kara knows that Lena will stop at nothing to try. “You aren’t made to conceal your emotions, Kara. So why continue to do so?” Lena’s voice is growing weary with fatigue, her arms beginning to slacken around Kara’s shoulders.

“It’s the only way I know how to feel strong.” She’s not sure she wants to admit it, even to herself. It feels like an admission of surrender to openly reveal something so personal and raw. It makes her feel exposed and vulnerable, and she hates it; not having anything to hide behind. It transcends her discomfort to ignite something visceral within her. All her life, from the moment she landed on Earth, her civilian identity was a priority established for her without her deliberation. From that day on, secrecy and concealment became the foundation for her relationships, even her most genuine, transparent self was not fully authentic. She fears what Lena may think of her for her resignation, for being so willingly compliant as to confess her worst, most secretive fears without resistance.

Lena however, just shifts her head to rest her cheek against Kara’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to feel pressured to be strong around me.”

A stark silence punctuates Lena’s words, occupied only by the sounds of Kara’s stifled sobbing. Kara wants to respond, to argue that it was never up to her to be strong, to say something to break the tension between them, but she cannot find the strength within herself to fight back. Not this time. She shakes her head dismissively in lieu of a response, and Lena grapples with her wordless resistance. Lena takes everything Kara throws at her with grace and swallows it deep as Kara sobs between her arms, clinging to her like a lifeline.

They stay like this for a while before Lena speaks again. Her tone is gentle, but her words are anything but a suggestion.

“You need to let yourself rest. Take a day for yourself. Just a day. Saving the world can wait.” Kara can barely discern the uncertainty in Lena’s voice; it’s a kindhearted, well-intentioned order more or less, but ultimately they both know that a single day of recuperation does not a fixed superhero make. Kara wants to admit that she distrusts the idea, that it would be an unethical waste of time, but Lena, already having recognized this, only hardens her tone and adds, “And before you try to argue with me, I am your boss, and I will send you home.”

Kara sulks. She hates it when Lena pulls the ‘I’m your boss’ card, she loses all leverage and means with which she has to fight back, but she knows good and well that an argument over something as menial as a day off for an overworked, exhausted superhero isn’t one she can win. At this point, she isn’t even sure if it’s something she even wants to win. She pouts despite knowing that it will go unseen but doesn’t dispute Lena’s orders and allows herself to lean heavily against her girlfriend’s chest, murmuring against her skin, only slightly miffed,

“Alright.”

Kara feels the weight of exhaustion pooling in her muscles, enticing her to lay down and rest. And yet, she cannot relinquish the all too familiar draw of responsibility and obligation lurking in the back of her mind, waiting for an opportune moment to impede on her indulgence and plague her with guilt.

“I won’t let you feel guilty for this, Kara.” Lena says, having seemingly read her thoughts. Kara wonders briefly if she needs to add telepathy to her list of superpowers before conceding with a slight nod, discovering that she doesn’t have the capacity to even object with anything else. It isn’t like resisting would’ve done her much good anyhow; with the way she has been venting she was all but asking for this and Kara figures that Lena would’ve pointed that out sooner or later.

Kara wonders if there has ever been a time in the past where she felt this unsure of herself. It unnerves her to have to question her own constitution in the face of her trauma, having buried it so deep inside of herself that she almost forgets that it exists in the first place. But, much like everything else that makes her Supergirl in the eyes of the planet, it is something that she can never truly abolish. She feels stilted, as if her own foundations have come apart at the hands of her deteriorating mental strength; that in place of bravery and selflessness, she feels vitriol and bitterness like a residue adhering to her heart from the hardship and suffering that she witnesses. She isn’t sure what Lena thinks this day off could possibly do to benefit her, so she just hopes that when she wakes up the next morning, she’ll feel slightly less exhausted.

They sit together, looking out over the languidly bustling city waking with the rise of the sun, the collective energy between them simmering low in thrumming, gentle pulses like the heartbeat of a sleeping child.

Eventually, the blare of Kara’s alarm cuts through the peaceful reticence between them and Kara reluctantly pulls away to go turn it off, Lena following her into their bedroom. She makes her way over to her bedside table where her phone vibrates and chimes dutifully at her. She scoops it up and hesitates slightly before tapping the ‘stop’ button, still resigned to the idea of taking the day for herself.

Lena stands opposite her, typing a message on her phone, and before Kara has a chance to ask, Lena speaks up,

“I’m emailing James. Asking him to take over until lunch. There is absolutely no way I’m working a full day on 5 hours of sleep.” She says with a small scoff.

Kara deflates visibly, her shoulders sloping downwards as she remembers that Lena’s been operating on minimal sleep because to her.

“I’m sorry for waking you... You didn’t need to come find me. It’s not a huge deal.” Kara murmurs with as much of a smile as she can muster as she slips underneath the comforter and settles against her pillow.

Lena looks up from the screen of her phone, her eyebrows furrowed with incredulity,

“I wanted to.” She remarks. “My decision to care about you is one made of my own accord, Kara, not because anyone forced me to.” Lena sets down her phone and slides herself into bed. Kara heaves a sigh and rolls onto her back, wondering how she could possibly not feel guilty for this. She feels herself succumbing to the weight of her own thoughts again, right up until the moment she feels Lena at her shoulder. And for one blissful moment amidst all the chaos, she feels the world stand completely still. Perhaps it's Lena's silent assurance that gives her a newfound glimmer of security and hope, or perhaps she's drifting off to sleep, Kara can't tell. She feels safe, she knows that much.

And when Lena finds Kara sitting beside the open window again a few nights later, she doesn't pry, or persuade her to come back to bed. She sits, and she waits. Lena waits for her to approach and listens intently when Kara finally does open up. Initially Kara doesn't allow herself to speak a word of what is preoccupying her, until she feels herself begin to tear up. Lena embraces whatever Kara has to share and matches it with thoughts, ideas, and fears of her own in an equal give and take. They comfort one another, and between the silence and tears shed, Kara begins to find solace in this time that once represented intrusion and disquietude. Kara can't place exactly what it was about the night Lena first found her sitting by her window. But ever since then, the weight of the world has begun to feel that much lighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr, I made it specifically for fan fiction: kryptoniism.tumblr.com


End file.
